"gnashers" poems
She smothers me with her words of desire
So I kiss her to stop it
And choke
I choke on her words
Choke on her soft tongue
Like a vicarious seizure
Put a wallet between our bear traps
So that I might catch my breath
Her lips brand my brain
With short circuits
So I stutter responses
And if she were any less beautiful
Or I could somehow be gay
I might actually have enough confidence
To say
Shut up and bring them gnashers my way
It’s okay if you bite
I like it rough
And
Already I can barely breathe
Suffocating under a blanket of words
I can smell the alcohol on her breath
As she speaks
As if her words could be any less flammable
Makes me wish I could drink gasoline without dying
Do you hear that dark room dancer?
You liquor breathed torpedo tongue
You cat eyed lighthouse
Reminding me where I want home to be?
You make me want to drink flammable liquid just to compete
I pull her close
Like the gentle slam of a car door
Are we dancing?
Or swimming?
Or drowning?
Go ahead **** me with your words
I give up
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
sugar-soaked in sepia
our expressions embellished like squashed liquorice
a sticky tattoo on tattered sleeves
an exhibition of adolescence
smiles that split our faces sore
gnawed lips cracking
to reveal chattered gnashers
stained from library coffee and
polished with bargainbin toothpaste
our salted skin doused in *****
and coke – making the memory oh-so sweeter
surrounded by a band of bar-time brothers
lost in an array of technicolour strobes
oblivious to the incoming traffic
and the carcrash they call adulthood
I remember the melody being played
the regular Wednesday swansong
NOW DON'T LOOK BACK IN ANGER
I rarely do
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 2:11 PM UTC
Don’t need my ‘full English’ served
On a giant rectangular slab
Don’t need a dressed salad garnish
With my bacon, sausage and egg
Don’t need vine-on cherry tomatoes
Give me canned ones in juice instead
And though I’ve scoured this ridiculous slab
Can I **** find a slice of fried bread?!
And where is my builder’s tea?
English breakfast or Earl Grey’s the choice
But cutlery won’t stand up in either
I want Tetley’s, nowt else will suffice
Oh, what has happened
To the greasy spoon?
This ‘N8 Brunch’
Is loony tunes
10 of my squid
For two brittle half rashers
That crumble to dust
When faced with my gnashers
One measly egg
Yet a goblet of beans
Presented as if made
Of priceless things
Resplendent on said slab
In a vessel all of their own
Yet still I detest these things
And deign to leave them alone
And every cuppa you have
Costs an additional fee
No bottomless beverages here
No meal deal where your tipple is free
This wasn’t always the case
But gentrification is setting in
Prices soar, pretension is rife
Poshification of everything
I love London toon
Particularly Crouch End
But I’m northern at heart
And it drives me round the bend
When I’m being ripped off
Taken for a ride
Fleeced and shafted
Hung out and dried
If I pop down the road
To N22
A tenner will buy
Double the amount of food
Might not look as pretty
Might not be as ‘posh’
But at least it’s value for money
Not like detonating your dosh
Middey’s by name
****** by nature
The tiniest of fry ups
Leaves me cold by temperature
A sprinkling of rocket
Is an utter abomination
On a British institution
I can’t afford at this rate of inflation
So b***ocks to the balsamic
You sprinkled on those leaves
That didn’t belong there in the first place
Desist in future, please!
Dispense with the vegetation
The slab that should be a plate
And reinstate the greasy spoon
In my beautiful N8.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC
Your tail is too curly, Just like a pig.
Your Manners are poor and you’re not very big.
Your legs are too short and they bend the wrong way.
You snore in your bed at the end of the day.
Your ears are too pointy, you look like a bat.
You won’t wear a coat or a jumper or hat.
Your fur is unruly it’s always in knots.
You will roll on a dead thing, just after it rots.
Your body is long, Like Gnashers, you’re tatty,
But you don’t like the brush and can get a bit ratty.
You grumble and swear if your dinner is late.
Not a morsel of food will be left on your plate.
Your eyes, they are covered you can’t see through your fur.
You zoom through the house til you’re only a blur.
Your temper is firey, you are quick to mouth off.
You can pull on your lead til you splutter and cough.
Your skittish outside when the night starts to fall.
You sometimes won’t ‘leave it’ or ‘come’ when I call.
You dance in the water no matter how *****
You’re a little bit strange and your habits are quirky.
Curled like a coil, that tail starts to wiggle.
and it fills me with joy that bursts out in a giggle.
Your short legs are strong, you can run very fast.
And you snore cos you learned, you can trust us, at last.
When your bat ears point high and your eyes fill with light,
I know you’ve heard Dad, coming home for the night
When you are smelly, you play in the bath.
Jumping and splashing and making me laugh.
Your body’s just right to fit curled on my knee.
Your fur’s beautifully grey and as soft as can be.
Whatever we feed you, we know you will finish.
You eat all your meat and even your spinach.
When your fur’s brushed away, your eyes, black like coal,
glisten and shine like your beautiful soul.
The barking’s all bluster, but you'd die for your pack.
The noise making up, for the stature you lack.
You snuggle inside when the night starts to fall
and mostly you ‘leave it’ and ‘come’ when I call.
My terrier angel, My sweet contradiction,
Eclectic and beautiful, flawed, to perfection
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
the mouths of the world
are served best
by cleaning in and around the
toothy nest
good oral hygeine can't
ever be beat
tis always great feeling
a brush's Colgate treat
each pearly white we've got in
our heads
habours plaque laden decaying
steads
if we look after our respective
sets of gnashers
we won't need those ill fitting
denture thrashers
Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 9:05 PM UTC